


Alive

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: “I’m sick?” he asked, even though he knew it made sense.It would account for the migraine, the exhaustion, the fact that he felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a very angry monster truck and had been repeatedly run over, all of it.“Yeah, I think so. You’re running a fever.”
Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, everybody? Happy day after Halloween! 
> 
> I hope this finds everyone in good health and state of mind. I totally meant to get a Halloween fic up, and it just didn't happen, so this is in consolation. 
> 
> The title is from "Alive" by Sia. Enjoy!

Stiles woke up with a pounding migraine. 

While this wasn’t exactly an  _ uncommon  _ occurrence between his near-constant state of sleep deprivation and regular Adderall abuse, it  _ was  _ an unpleasant one. 

It didn’t help that this headache felt different than normal, a pulsing pain burrowing deep under his skin and building in his temples, spreading out to the rest of his body. 

He groaned, immediately regretting it and wincing when it made the throbbing flare up for a moment. 

He blindly pawed around for his phone, eventually finding it and checking the time after momentarily blinding himself with the light. 

It was 4:37 AM-- only a few hours before he was supposed to be up and getting ready for work. 

There was no way he was going to last a minute feeling like this, not even somewhere as quiet and serene as the small, hole-in-the-wall bookstore he worked at. 

He silently thanked whoever was listening that it was Saturday and he didn’t have class. He left a short voicemail on his boss’ cell phone calling himself out sick. 

Stiles rolled back over, abandoning his phone on his bedside table and biting back a pitiful whine. He buried his face in his pillows, and fell back into a light, fitful sleep. 

***

He was startled awake by a dry, calloused palm on his forehead, jumping and peering around blearily. 

“Shh, it’s just me, beautiful. You’re okay.” 

A soothing hand ruffled through his sweat-damp hair and cupped his face. 

He sagged, “Mitch?” 

“Yeah. Margie texted me and told me you called in sick. I thought I would come check on you,” he frowned, dark eyes troubled. “I think you’re coming down with something. Poor baby.” 

“I’m sick?” he asked, even though he knew it made sense. 

It would account for the migraine, the exhaustion, the fact that he felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a very angry monster truck and had been repeatedly run over, all of it. 

“Yeah, I think so. You’re running a fever.” 

“My head hurts,” he said, his voice sounding small and pitiful even to his own ears.

Mitch brushed a tender thumb over his cheekbone, “Oh, baby. Sit up for me? We need to get some water in you.” 

“Can I have some Tylenol?” 

“If you can keep the water down. Hold on, I’ll help you.” 

It was a combined effort to get him sitting with as weak and feeble as he was feeling but they made it work, his back against his headboard as he leaned against the wall. He was temporarily distracted from the pain in his skull by the muscles standing out in Mitch’s forearms as he hauled him up. 

He blinked slowly, and groped around until he found Mitch’s hand, interlacing their fingers. 

Mitch squeezed his hand before pulling back so he could cup Stiles’ jaw. He touched the opening of the bottle he’d seemingly pulled from thin air to his lips, gently tipping some water into his mouth. 

Stiles swallowed greedy mouthfuls until Mitch drew it away. It was nearly empty. 

“There’s a good boy,” he praised. 

He fished a couple pills out of the bottle of painkillers Stiles kept near his bed, giving them to him and helping him wash them down. 

He manhandled Stiles back into laying down, stepping away from his bed to flick the ceiling fan on. He neared the door, and Stiles wondered if he was going to leave. 

“Mitch?” he asked, his voice raspy. 

Mitch looked up at him, his eyebrows pulling together as he seemed to get what he was thinking without him saying anything at all. 

He’d always been far too good at reading Stiles for anyone’s good.

“You’re okay. I’m not leaving you on your own, I’m just going to grab you some more water, and something to eat, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Stiles tried to nod, but winced. Mitch grimaced, and walked over to place a soft kiss on his forehead, combing his hair from his back. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said again, and left the room. 

Stiles could hear that he was still in the apartment-- dishes clattered, the fridge opened and closed, Mitch cursed a few times. None of it was loud enough to bother him in the comfortable, quiet darkness of his room though. 

Mitch padded back into the room minutes later, a fresh bottle of water in one hand, and what appeared to be a bowl of soup in the other. 

“I had soup?” he asked, quizzically. 

“No. I brought it over from my place.” 

Stiles hummed, and let Mitch prop him up against his chest and shoulder this time instead of the wall. 

“I don’ want you to get sick,” he mumbled, making a face. 

“I’m not going to get sick, Stiles.” 

He fed him spoonfuls of the soup in between pulls of water and moments of deep breathing where Stiles’ stomach rebelled and he had to really think about whether or not he wanted to keep eating. 

Mitch left again to trash the bottle and set the bowl in the sink, but kept Stiles sitting up this time. 

He pulled off Stiles’ shirt when he returned, balling it up and tossing it into the hamper before tugging on a bigger, softer one that Stiles was sure was his. 

“Much better,” he said to himself. 

Stiles made a non-committal noise of agreement. He felt a little better at least, a little less fatigued, and a lot happier than he was when he woke up alone. 

Mitch tucked him under the blankets when he started to come back down to a normal temperature, his fever beginning to break and slowly fade. 

He mumbled his thanks into his pillow, closing his eyes against the low light coming in from the doorway. 

“You goin’ home?” he asked, mostly asleep. 

Mitch paused, his shirt half-way off and caught around his arms. “Do you want me to?” 

“No,” Stiles said. 

He relaxed, pulling his top the rest of the way over his head and throwing it into the laundry basket to join Stiles’ own. He stripped out of his jeans and slid into a pair of Stiles’ sweatpants, crawling into bed behind him. 

He hooked an arm around his waist and gently dragged him close, until his back was flush with Mitch’s chest, the warmth from his skin seeping into Stiles’. 

Stiles breathed in the soft scent of his soap, and his cologne, and something that was just  _ Mitch _ in its entirety. It was comforting, to say the least, and he could already feel his eyelids drooping. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” A kiss was pressed to the skin behind his ear. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, and let himself drop off into unconsciousness. 

Mitch would be there when he woke up. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked it! Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Until next time!  
> -Sins 
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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